


Clinch Nearly

by Pyrasaur



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Sparring, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrasaur/pseuds/Pyrasaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ralph has tried some crazy stunts, so why not a few grappling moves? It's the first of many things he learns with Zangief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clinch Nearly

     All Ralph did was take Zangief up on his offer to go see some Street Fighter matches. And then he made _one_ comment about how cool the Street Fighter matches were. Honestly, that was it.  
     Zangief grinned at him. The really, genuinely delighted look he'd been doing a lot lately, and Ralph got the same weird feeling something important was going on.  
     "You like, yes? Zangief could teach you."  
     "Teach— Uh. What?" Ralph must not have heard him correctly.  
     "It is _best_ way to improve oneself. No man is champion first time fighting, but I can teach you the ways, Ralph."  
     Champion? Who said anything about being a champion? Ralph nearly said _no, thanks, it's not my speed_. But Zangief always seemed so downright enthusiastic at the idea of them hanging out together, doing anything even vaguely manly. And the guy hadn't steered Ralph wrong so far. And to be honest, Ralph had meant that one comment he made: the way Zangief and his coworkers struck with ground-shaking power but with _style_ , too, now that was just the coolest thing around.  
     "It is quite safe," Zangief added hopefully, "as long as match timer is not running …?"  
     "Y'know," Ralph decided, "I wouldn't mind giving it a try." Hey, he flew a spaceship once. Why not learn a few moves?  
     And with a boom of a laugh, Zangief clapped him on the back. Which had scared the heck out of Ralph the first time it happened but right now, he had to admit it was growing on him.

 

He got the full tour of Zangief's place. Obviously, the guy kept his own workout studio — a nice, roomy spot Ralph could stand up straight in. Zangief's muttering about _not enough bears_ just didn't make any sense at all, but all the big steel dumbbells and punching bags explained a lot. Zangief led the way to the middle of an expanse of floor mats.  
     "How long it has been since Zangief had a new sparring partner," he crowed, with a thump on Ralph's back. "We will begin slowly, do not worry! No Spinning Piledrivers today."  
     Ralph rubbed his neck. "I don't have to wear briefs, right?"  
     Zangief burst into a grin. "Not unless you would like to?"  
     That was _not_ going to happen.  
     The grin faded into a wince. "It is … best if Ralph is himself," Zangief decided, with lighter pat.  
     Well, that was definitely a relief. It occurred to Ralph that there would only be more … physical stuff. What exactly, he wasn't sure. Not the flashy finishing moves that could hurt someone, obviously. Maybe the grabs and throws. That kind of stuff seemed more a beginner's speed, Ralph knew with an unsettled tingling rising in him. Maybe it wasn't as touchy-feely as it looked from the stands. Yeah, it probably wouldn't be so bad once he knew how sparring even worked.  
     "Hey, so, uh. I only saw you fight that one time. You do …" With loose-held fists and a little bob and weave, Ralph asked, "Wrestling kinda stuff. Right?"  
     Taking two big steps away and turning, getting into some kind of starting position, Zangief rolled his eyes like the question was adorable. "Ehh, wrestling stuff, yes. The core of Zangief's technique," he said, raising explanation hands, "is grappling. It is catching opponent off his guard, getting him off balance, and trapping him in lock from which there is no escape. It is test of strength and manhood — but also, it is game of the _mind_."  
     The skill and brains behind the punching, huh? Nodding with thought, Ralph said, "Okay."  
     "Now. If this were real fight, Ralph would be crushed already. Look at this stance, this is no good! Here, like this. Do like Zangief." 

There were some tricks for how to stand and keep his weight balanced. And some key vulnerable points on a person's body — most of which were news to Ralph. And Zangief's passionate philosophy on using size to one's advantage. According to him, being nine feet tall and weighing six hundred and forty-three pounds would be any Street Fighter's dream. Ralph wondered what those tiny lady Street Fighters would have to say about it — but then again, he didn't figure those ladies would be offering to train him anytime soon.

Nah, the sweeps and strategic pushes felt like natural movements to make. _Here, try_ , Zangief said for each move, standing there patient while Ralph figured out where to put his hands.It made physical sense in a way Ralph couldn't put words to: he could only nod when Zangief managed to explain it. Maybe understanding this sort of stuff was part of a character's code, not just for fighters but for everyone who worked with their fists.  
     "And you hold tight — yes, like this," Zangief said.  
     Ralph had Zangief's solid weight lifted onto tiptoe, held under the arms, his own big hands on a _whole_ lot of skin— which had stopped being weird except when Ralph accidentally noticed. Stay focused, Wreck-It. Underhooks, this move was called. Very serious fighting business.  
     "So," Ralph said, "this would lead into either a pin or some piledriver thing, right?"  
     "Most likely, yes." He ran a considering look up and down, one Ralph could practically feel on him. "You are not tired, Ralph?"  
     "Not really?" This stuff took strength, sure, but not as much as Ralph's literal tons of bricks did.  
     Humming approval, Zangief nodded. "Then I think we should move on to actual practice match."  
     "You really think I'm ready?" Ralph asked. He had been calling an awful lot of the moves _some kinda grabby thing_ so it wasn't like he was an expert yet.  
     "Yes, you will learn better by doing." And then — barely touching the ground, dangling disadvantaged —Zangief raised a brow and just _glowed_ with confidence. "What do you say, Ralph? Let us see you try to pin Zangief. No special moves, only technique."  
     Sure seemed like Ralph was moving up in the world. "Okay," he said. "Should I, uh. Put you down?"  
     "Where would challenge be if Ralph simply _puts_ Zangief down?"  
     Strength, manliness, and games of the mind indeed. Finding the smile contagious, Ralph said, "Okay, Zangief. Ready when you are."  
     "Round One. And … _fight_."

     There was a place of focus that seemed to come with these moves, amped up and yet calm. Underhooks were countered with overhooks — which was just what Zangief did, grabbing high over Ralph's shoulders. Well, the piledriver was right out so Ralph had to go with a pin, now how did that one leg sweep go? Zangief had locked both hands behind Ralph's neck and his balance was changing, uh oh time to do _something_ so Ralph stopped resisting and went with the forward momentum. Apparently that wasn't what Zangief had been expecting; they fell and hit the mat, and Ralph had the presence of mind to grip those muscular arms and hold tight.  
     Shoulders flat on the mat, Zangief flexed under Ralph, and flexed again hard and didn't get anywhere. Probably because the sheer size of Ralph's hands meant his leverage was shot — hey, this really was starting to make sense.  
     "This," Zangief finally admitted, "this is good pin. Very solid."  
     "Did I get you?" Grin breaking out on his face, success suddenly seeming real, Ralph said, "Haha, I got you, didn't I? Can you get out of this?"  
"Of course!" He jerked again in Ralph's grip. "But I am going easy on you, Ralph."  
     "No, I'd like to see this! How would you escape if this were a real match?"  
     Something flickered across Zangief's face, a darker mood. Maybe Ralph shouldn't have been pushing the issue: he was twice Zangief's size, after all. And there plenty of Street Fighter techniques but none made with wrecking hands in mind. Nobody liked having their pride stomped on, Ralph knew with a sudden pierce of guilt. He moved back as quick as he could, releasing his grip.  
     "Uh—"

     And in the instant his weight shifted, a leg hooked around his feet and the floor disappeared — until it slammed Ralph in the back and he saw stars.  
     "I did not mean that!" Zangief's voice came from … somewhere. "Are you alright, my friend?!"  
     Well, it certainly knocked the breath out of him. "Whew." Blinking until the stars changed back to ceiling tiles, he put a testing finger between the mat and his head. Still a whole skull there. Didn't feel like any part of him had been crushed like an egg.  
     "Ralph …?"  
     "Nah, it's— I'm okay."  
     And he heaved forward, planning on sitting up but here was Zangief leaning over him — and they nearly bashed noses, but stopped in the nick of time. Then just stayed frozen there. Both breathing hard in the half inch of space, with Zangief's absolutely focused attention on Ralph. This was new. Or was it?  
     "U-Uh. Yep," Ralph felt a need to babble. It was electric, being this close to the other man's bright, clear eyes. "everything checks out. Nothing broken or fragmented here! I'm ... I'm actually feeling pretty good."

Oh, darn it, that wasn't what he meant to say. But a warm panic flooded through his veins and he apparently hadn't caught his breath yet, and Zangief smirked at him again, that look full of ideas that only made the panicky feeling worse. And then the too-small space was gone, Zangief's mouth on his.  
The panic was a blinding burst that made Ralph reach for he had absolutely no idea what. But then, no, this was a mustache scratching his upper lip and body heat against him. Someone he liked welcoming him somewhere he had never been. And he found himself joining in.  
     It was another pattern Ralph found he already knew. Thought piped up _two guys. huh._ and drained away as Zangief' leaned into it, as his hand spread on Ralph's neck, touch tracing up to his hairline — ooh, that was shivery and nice.  
     The kiss wound down and they parted — and Ralph leaned forward, following, unthinking and not wanting it to be over just yet. They met clumsier this time and slipped back into the motions, Ralph bracing on one elbow to lean back and Zangief humming pleased, stretching closer over the arch of Ralph's chest. And when that one was over, Ralph was as breathless as ever looking into Zangief's eyes and he sort of thought he was going to die but in a good way.  
     "That is not normal way I escape," Zangief breathed.  
     "I. Heh! I kind of figured." Ralph swallowed. His face felt so hot, he had to be red as a cherry. "So, uh. What just happened ...?"  
     With a smile lazily widening, Zangief said, "Something I have wanted to do for very long time."  
     Ralph's eyes widened. "Really?"  
     "Mmhmm."  
     "How long?"

     For a moment, Zangief was quiet, eyes drifting over Ralph's face like trying to memorize him. He settled his forearm more comfortably on Ralph's chest, and sank his free hand into Ralph's hair to stroke his scalp. Five points of movement on a spot Ralph hadn't thought was this sensitive. The shivers were back, he found as his eyes drifted closed.  
     "When Super Street Fighter II was plugged in," Zangief began to share, "Nineteen years ago, it was. Zangief began walking in Game Central Station to see everyone else in arcade and where they come from — to see where my competition is, maybe. And one day, Zangief saw huge man in the crowd, tall like mighty mountain splitting the snow. Watch out, people said to Zangief— he is Wreck-It Ralph, he is bad guy. Zangief, of course, was not scared of fellow bad guy. No, Zangief thought — this Wreck-it Ralph, he looks strong. He could crush many heads with such powerful hands. Someday, maybe I would like to meet this man. Some days, thought even crossed Zangief's mind that this Wreck-It Ralph looked like handsome man, too."  
     Ralph's eyes flew open "… _Really?_ ". The petting in his hair had slowed but that was a distant thing now.  
     "All of this is true." Zangief still wore the wide smile — which was tightening into something else, while he watched his own hand moving like it really was distant. "Yet it took many years for me to say hello, did it not? Zangief was little bit scared of himself. I regret this."  
     It was just unbelievable. Long years ago — while Ralph had been walking his dingy loop through the dump and Tapper's and the dump again, only seeing the little good guys scattering front of him —somebody had been off in the distance noticing him, thinking of him. Seeing something special. If Ralph had only looked beyond himself—  
     "But Ralph does not have this problem?" Zangief asked. "Of questioning his desires?"  
     Desires? Wow, that was … direct. But it sure shone a different light on a lot of things Ralph had been thinking lately.  
     "Not really," he tried, "not like that. Well, I mean—" He shrugged one-shouldered. "I didn't think much about this … this kind of _situation_ , before. Just figured I'd sort it out sooner or later. And I don't really see a reason to question it now that, uh. Now that it's here. I mean, if … If it's … something we can …"  
     He stumbled into silence. What he meant was that Zangief was a pretty great guy now that Ralph knew him, and the way they could be so honest with each other was a valuable, gleaming thing he wanted to hang around his neck and hold onto. And just because he had no idea where the two of them were going with this new thing didn't mean he wasn't on board. He met Zangief's eyes in the listening quiet.  
     Ralph wondered if he should stumble some more and get his awkward piece said. Then Zangief leaned toward him again. Beard brushing Ralph's chin before he managed to stretch just right, lock hands behind Ralph's neck again and this time only pull him a little bit, down into a kiss, and another one, and a long, deep one.

Ralph found the nerve to lay one hand on Zangief, all down his bare shoulders and back. Still not weird if Ralph didn't think it was. He ran the pad of his thumb over Zangief's shoulder blades and the little bumps of his spine — the guy was high definition in his time. All that bare skin glowed hot with exertion, maybe partly from the sparring — that other physical stuff they'd been doing. That thought stayed lodged in Ralph's mind and in the next pause for breath, the next half-inch of space, Ralph asked:  
     "Hey … Were you planning to— To— Make some kind of a move? When you offered to teach me?"  
     "I am very serious about teaching you," Zangief said unhesitating. "Fighting is not for joking about. This … this was happy accident."  
     He pulled back, dipped lower, and Ralph barely wondered what for when pressure latched onto his neck, a wet explosion of sensation. He gasped and heard a thin sound come out of his own mouth as Zangief's whiskers scraped a shining path through his senses.  
     "Very happy accident," purred against his throat.  
     "Okay, not gonna argue with that." He firmed his grip on Zangief's back — sweat-damp skin and rock-hard muscle — and pulled him closer.      They settled flush together, hard abs against flabby belly while Zangief ran a hand down the angles of Ralph's chest, and everything was a new level of electric — particularly where their private areas were only separated by a little cloth and, boy, that was a scary kind of fascinating.  
     "This training," and Zangief gave a wicked grin, "can continue as long as Ralph would like."  
     "Oh, come _on_ ," Ralph said. He couldn't stifle his smile completely — it just faded into his hitching breathing as Zangief began another rhythm with his hips, rolling the two of them together. Fabric on fabric and underneath, the shapes of them both standing out loud and clear. He had never enjoyed being dizzy and lost before but Zangief hadn't steered him wrong so far. 

     No, Ralph just gulped a deep breath and let it out uneven, finding his forehead resting against Zangief's tuft of hair. Weight on him shifted, so Zangief still molded to him but not enough to rub together: here was Zangief's hand outlining his chest muscles again, drifting down his ribs where it very nearly tickled through his layered shirts.  
     Breathed hot against his throat, Zangief asked, "Would you let me …?" His fingers nudged under the edge of Ralph's overalls.  
     "Yeah."  
     Ralph should have thought about that, he realized late. Even though his answer wouldn't have changed. That wandering hand slipped under his overalls and made bright contact with his skin, and slipped past the band of his underwear and here was the foreignness of someone else touching him. A grip that only wrapped most of the way around his girth and raked a shudder up his back.  
     "What lucky man I am …"  
     The low velvet of his voice made Ralph's stomach flip-flop, a good spot among all the building things pent up in him. He squirmed, one fist clenching useless at the smooth mat and the other careful on Zangief's shifting back. There wasn't room between them for one of _his_ hands and the motion of somebody else's was just a half-notch too real. Ralph drew his knees up: he was about to explode and not in the way he was probably supposed to.  
     "C-Can I just— I've gotta do somethin'."  
     "Anything you want." Flushed to the tips of his ears, Zangief paused to stare a question.

     Ralph recalled the dark flash in Zangief and hoped he wasn't making a mistake, hefting up into a sitting position and turning the two of them over. He was clumsy with all the rushing things in him, focusing on balancing and not even doing a good job as he laid Zangief down neck-first.  
     "Geez, sorry."  
     "Is fine," Zangief breathed, all writhing strength underneath him, "You are trying for the pin again?"  
     "No. The point of this is for us to move, right?" Forearms on the mat, feet planted astride his partner, Ralph hunched to get them matched up right. This felt more right already. "I just thought it'd be easier to— _Aaah_ , yeah, like that."  
     Arched off the mats on his long legs, Zangief made the contact for him, that rolling motion like before but they both had plenty of leverage this time.  
     "Fast learner at this, too." Zangief pulled his overall strap like they weren't close enough. "Excellent, Ralph."  
     "Mmm," he answered. And slipped a hand under Zangief's backside — holy _heck_ he was well-rendered there — and rocked against him. Underneath Ralph, held tight, Zangief's muscular body thrummed and the friction between their clothed manhoods built with each flex.On top of it all, here was that five-point caress again, Zangief's hand in his hair. The mildest technique out all this touching and it made Ralph press his smile to Zangief's ear.  
     "More of that? Please?"  
     He murmured answer and took Ralph's head in both hands. Fingers laced into his hair, ten points stroking backward and then pulling out, to sink in again and draw more shivers. Ralph sighed deep and drank in this feeling. Holding on, holding down, just plain holding while doing something this personal. Their pace grew so steadily that Ralph didn't notice until he was breathless again, until Zangief murmured something inaudibly gruff against his neck and pushed insistantly hard with his hips. And their friction seemed to draw out forever until Ralph could't wind any tighter.  
     It hit like lightning, washing out every sensation but the golden rush of release and those beautiful hands buried in his hair to touch skin. And he came back shaking. And their touch was still happening, Zangief still grinding against him and Ralph flinched back, each touch down there turned to sandpaper.  
     "Ralph," Zangief husked, "if you would …?"  
     He pushed at Ralph's hand where it cupped his backside, and with a few more pushes moved it toward the tight front of his briefs. Ah, Ralph thought, and hesitated only a second before putting the pad of his thumb against that fabric and the man under it. Careful, careful — tiny movements of his hands. Each shift of his thumb covered the whole hard shape and made Zangief tremble in his strong-bent arch. And made him gasp harder, eyes squeezed closed and mouth softly open while it all washed over his face. Wow, had Ralph looked anything like that when the tables were turned?  
     Hang on, Ralph thought, he could do better. He turned his hand in the cramped space between them, slid two fingers between hard-flexing thighs and hooked them, rubbing front and back and everything in between.  
     "That alright?" he murmured.  
     " _Yes._ " Hands returning to the back of Ralph's neck, sliding like searching for the right spot, Zangief choked, "Ah, Ralph!" and he jerked hard against the palm of his hand, all shaking muscle and an amazing story on his face while he fell back to calm.

     Ralph extracted his hands from between them, to rest on both arms. They had felt pretty watery a minute ago, but now Ralph was some combination of deeply calm and jittering all over and and just feeling very, very alive. And not sure what to think now that it was over.  
Until, half an inch away, Zangief regarded him with lidded eyes. "Oh, Ralph. Come here, my friend."  
     He didn't actually have to move anywhere: he was just dragged down into a headlock, a bristly-faced kiss pressing to his forehead so he flushed hotter than he already was. "S-Some kinda friend, huh?"  
     "Most excellent kind. I am happy we could share this."  
     That was a nice way to think of it. Sharing. People could share all kinds of stuff with each other. He nodded.  
     Sliding out from under Ralph, Zangief added, "And I think we should make regular habit of sparring. Any meaning of _that_ you would like."  
     "Good grief," Ralph muttered, "can we keep the innuendo down? I'd like to be able to talk about these moves of yours with a straight face."  
     Clearly biting back a comment, Zangief smiled wide. "I … would not mind giving it a try."

     It took Ralph a second, but he knew why that sounded like some secret bit of wordplay. Because earlier, Zangief offered to train him to be a champion and Ralph said— right, right. Well, that was a joke to hold onto.

     While walking him home through the empty arena streets, where there'd be quarters and real match-ups in a few minutes, Zangief walked close enough to lay his arm in the dip of Ralph's lower back. That was definitely a new one. But Ralph couldn't manage to mind.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is two things. First, it's a reaction to the fact that people make "they were just wrestling" jokes about these two but I haven't seen an actual friendly-combat-becoming-something-else fic yet. It just needed to exist!
> 
> Second, and more importantly, this fic is an exploration of Ralph's reaction to touch. In the movie, he recoils from Zombie's physical friendliness, looks incredibly uncomfortable when Felix hugs him by surprise, and even seems momentarily stunned when Vanellope hugs him after they save each other. Ralph's life has clearly been lonely, so he's probably unaccustomed to friendly touch and startled by it. It's something he doesn't know how to react to. But once he's in a good emotional place with someone, I bet Ralph would eat up affectionate touch like a starving man on a cheeseburger. Zangief seemed like a good catalyst for that.


End file.
